Chapter 5: Ro—Robbery!

Being an idiot and being a fool are fundamentally different.

A fool has normal thinking and intelligence but behaves strangely, often making others angry. Most of the time, "fool" is just a descriptive term expressing strong dissatisfaction.

But an idiot—now that's a medical term. The full name is intellectual disability, also known as cognitive impairment. It means the brain is underdeveloped—it's a real, physiological issue.

"These netizens sure have a way with words," Evan said to the system.

[...]

That day, Evan was preparing the dough for the next morning's fried dough sticks when Hane casually strolled into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a can of soda.

"What are you doing?"

"Kneading dough."

"Why is it so soft?"

Hane curiously poked it with his finger and ended up with a sticky mess on his hand.

"This is how fried dough dough is supposed to be," Evan said, nodding toward the sink. "Just rinse your hands; rubbing won't get it off."

"Oh."

Hane responded absentmindedly, then suddenly said, "Can you pick up Mom and Dad from the airport tomorrow afternoon?"

"Huh?" Evan's head shot up. "They're coming back?"

The original novel mentioned Mr. and Mrs. Wells but only briefly. Mrs. Wells, Jane Miller, was a painter specializing in oil paintings. She had been abroad for years, hosting exhibitions. Evan's father, Rick Wells, feeling guilty toward his wife, followed her overseas and hadn't been back home in years.

In the original Evan's memories, his last recollection of his parents was from the summer before ninth grade. He had stood on the second-floor balcony, secretly watching as their car drove farther and farther away.

"Yeah," Hane said. "Mom has some work back home, and Dad has business matters to settle with me. But I have meetings all day tomorrow, so I can't go to the airport. It wouldn't be right to just send Uncle John to pick them up."

"Of course, I'll go."

Hearing this, Evan put away the dough, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and wiped down the countertop. In an instant, the kitchen was spotless again.

Hane watched his brother work with such practiced ease. His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. He simply arranged for a driver to accompany Evan.

The next day, Evan closed up his breakfast stall early, went home to wash off the greasy smell, and changed into fresh clothes. Uncle John prepared some motion sickness medicine for him. As Evan waited in the car for the driver to turn on the air conditioning, he took out his parents' photos and studied them once more.

Alright. Faces memorized. No way I'll mix them up.

Everything was set—the medicine was taken, and Evan was full of confidence.

Then, halfway there, he started throwing up like a dying dog.

The driver, Jose Turnner, had only started working last month. Though he was an excellent driver, he never expected Evan to get carsick to this degree. Apparently, even after reincarnating, Evan had carried over his motion sickness. Cars, trains, ships, planes—he got nauseous in all of them. His whole life had revolved around walking and biking.

Now, he lay sprawled across the backseat, barely breathing, his face pale as a sheet. His mask hid his expression, but his occasional retching noises made his condition obvious.

"Young Master, are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No need." Evan forced himself to stay alert. "Jose, maybe you should just drop me off by the roadside so I can grab a shared bike."

"But we're already on the highway. There aren't any shared bikes around here."

Only then did Evan realize they had unknowingly left the city. With no other choice, he closed his eyes and said, "Alright, just drive safely."

Jose was a professional, keeping the ride as smooth as possible. But that still didn't stop Evan from bolting out of the car and vomiting into the nearest trash can the moment they arrived.

This is it. I'm done. Why hasn't someone invented a teleportation door yet?

Evan was on the verge of tears. He never wanted to travel long distances again.

"Phew…"

In the VIP lounge, a flight attendant handed Evan a cup of warm sugar water. He took a deep breath and sipped it slowly.

Finally, he felt alive again.

Jose stood to the side, looking guilty as he tore open a small pack of biscuits and offered it to Evan. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better." Evan tried to comfort the poor guy. "It's not your fault—I just get carsick really easily."

"But you were never this bad before."

"Maybe I didn't sleep well last night." Evan casually made something up. "It's been so long since I last saw Mom and Dad—I was too excited to sleep."

He had only just recovered, his lips still pale as he cradled his cup of sugar water and sipped at it delicately. Seeing him like this, Jose actually felt a pang of sympathy. He comforted him, "Mr. and Mrs. Wells should be staying in the country for a while this time. You'll have plenty of time to be with them."

"Mm." Evan nodded absentmindedly.

After all, Mrs. Wells wasn't even his biological mother. Those two were probably happier not seeing him.

The plane was set to land in thirty minutes. Evan had never met his parents before, but after cramming last night with their photos, he was fully prepared. His plan was simple:

First, rush forward and present them with flowers. Give them a big, warm hug—doesn't matter if it feels unnatural. What matters is making them feel welcomed with a grand gesture.

Second, hold their hands and express his deep longing for them. Never mind if it was true or not—he needed to make them feel like they were deeply missed.

Lastly, escort them to the car and spend the ride talking about all the heartwarming moments he shared with Hane over the years. He needed to subtly show that he had matured while also hinting that he planned to move out and be independent soon—just so they'd know he wasn't after the family fortune.

Such a perfect plan. So filial, so understanding. A private son any wealthy couple would be proud of. Evan was this close to tearing up at how touching it all was.

As the moment drew near, Evan stood eagerly at the arrival gate. Finally, he spotted a familiar-looking couple. Without hesitation, he dashed forward, his voice full of emotion:

"Dad! Mom! I missed you so much!"

And with that, he threw himself into their arms.

"Uh?"

The couple was caught off guard but instinctively patted Evan on the back. Before they could react further, Evan swiftly pulled out the bouquet he had prepared and stuffed it into the woman's hands, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Mom, I see a few more wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. You must have had a tough time working abroad these past few years."

"Really?" His mother let out an awkward laugh and touched the corner of her eye.

"But you're still as beautiful as ever! Hane is waiting for us at home—let's go!"

"We're not—"

"Oh, come on, don't be so polite! I even prepared a surprise for you. If you don't come with me, you'll regret it!"

"No, we're not—"

"If you keep this up, I'll get mad," Evan huffed, swiftly grabbing their luggage and striding ahead.

The two people fell silent. Evan, surprisingly, didn't think much of it either.

"You must be exhausted after such a long flight." Evan handed their suitcases to Jose. "The car is just outside. Come with me—Hane has a meeting today, but he should be home by tonight."

"Wait, kid, are you sure—"

The man was about to say something, but his wife tugged at his sleeve. She kept darting glances at Jose, who was built like a tank—broad shoulders, muscular arms, towering presence. The man immediately caught on and shut his mouth.

"What do you want for dinner? Tell Uncle John now, and he'll prepare it."

The man hesitated before cautiously asking, "We… can still order food?"

"Of course you can." Evan found the question utterly baffling. "But if you don't have anything in mind, Uncle John will take care of it. Oh, right, he recently had the chef learn a bunch of Western dishes, so don't worry if you're not used to food here right away."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Though I don't understand some of the dishes—apparently, some of them are served rare."

The couple in the backseat flinched simultaneously.

"Hane's been working out for the past two years. He's huge now—taller than me by half a head. He can smash a brick with one hand. Pretty cool, right?"

"V-very cool."

"I'm not bad either! I may look small, but I can carry an 80-kilogram sack with no problem. Carrying a person? Easy. Someone Mom's size? I could carry two of you!"

The couple: Help! HELP!

The car hadn't even driven far when Evan noticed the man in the backseat looking at his phone.

Concerned, he asked, "Dad, you're using your phone in the car? Don't you get carsick?"

The man flinched. "N-no, not at all! I'll put it away right now."

Though his "dad" didn't get carsick, Evan did. It didn't take long before another wave of nausea hit him. He shut his mouth, curled up in the passenger seat, and tried to suppress it, his brows furrowed, his face dark.

As they entered the city, Evan finally sat up, glanced at the street outside, and suddenly grinned. "Hey, look! We're driving right next to a police car!"

—

Hane's meeting wasn't long. As soon as he finished, his secretary handed him his phone. He glanced at it—several missed calls, all from his parents.

His stomach dropped. Evan must've messed up again.

"Hello? Dad?" Hane called back immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Didn't you say someone was coming to pick us up? No one showed up." Rick Wells sounded irritated after waiting so long at the airport. "What's going on?"

"That's impossible." Hane frowned. Did Evan seriously ditch them? He had been so adamant about picking them up, practically swearing an oath in front of him. "Where are you now? I'll send someone."

"We're already home." Rick paused, then added, "Where's Evan? Isn't he on break right now? Why isn't he home?"

The audacity. The little troublemaker had made such a big deal about picking them up, and now that their parents were home, he was nowhere to be found. Hane's temple throbbed. "I have no idea where he is."

Rick didn't seem too bothered. He simply told Hane to finish his work and come home soon.

Hane agreed, hung up, and just as he was about to put his phone away—another call came in.

Caller ID: Evan.

"Hello? Evan, where the hell are—"

"BROTHER!!" Evan wailed from the other end. "I GOT ARRESTED! COME BAIL ME OUT!!"

Hane: "..."